


One Potion Too Far

by wendymarlowe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Potions, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione hires Snape to help her create some new potions for her and Ron's business.  They don't get along.</p><p>written from a prompt by Victoria Anderson from ff.net. THIS WORK IS INCOMPLETE AND WILL PROBABLY STAY THAT WAY. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger stepped gracefully from the fireplace and dusted a smudge of ash off her sleeve. Her gaze traveled over the room, taking in the shabby furniture and faded wallpaper with no particular disgust, but Severus felt a pang of shame anyway. He knew his home was a far cry from Hogwarts, but he wasn’t really in the position to do more than basic magical maintenance on the worst of the problems. And he rarely used the parlor, anyway.

“You wanted to see me, Miss Granger?” he snapped with a bit more malice than he intended.

She ignored his rudeness, though, merely extending her hand politely for a thoroughly muggle handshake. “You look well, Professor.”

He inwardly bristled at her tone, but refused to let it show. Despite his irritation, he _did_ rather need this meeting. Assuming she actually meant something by it, and it wasn’t just a social call . . .

“You mentioned a business question?”

She smiled without malice. “Yes. It’s just - nice to see you, is all. But I did have a proposal for you, if you’re interested - shall we talk here, or is there somewhere else?”

Severus eyed the faded armchairs, but . . . “Come, I’ll show you my workroom.”

She followed quietly down the short hallway. Severus’s house was rather small - all he needed for just one person, really, but small all the same. His one concession to the need for more space was in his laboratory, which was rather larger than the footprint of the house would make it appear. He opened the door and held it for her as she stepped through.

“This is . . . very charming, actually. I expected something darker.”

Severus scowled. “Nothing about potions require them to be brewed in a dungeon, Miss Granger. I happen to like having natural light available when possible.” He indicated the two chairs flanking the rather scarred wooden workbench in the center of the room, and they both sat.

“I saw your article in _Potions Weekly_ last month - how is the custom potion market these days?” she asked.

 _None of her damn business_ , he thought. A single glance at his house and his laboratory should have been enough to tell her all she needed to know - the wizarding world may have been recovering after Voldemort’s death, but curiously few witches and wizards were keen on special-ordering custom potions from a former Death-Eater. Even one who was technically a war hero.

But he wasn’t going to say that, of course. He settled for a bland, “Acceptable. I’ve been keeping busy.”

Hermione didn’t contradict the obvious lie, just smiled politely. “That’s good. I’m here to ask a favor, honestly - Ron and I are in over our heads.”

 _Now there’s a surprise_. Of course Severus had seen the advertisements for the Granger-Weasley business enterprise - felt like you couldn’t turn your head without stumbling across another tacky poster or banner or magazine ad with Ron Weasley’s inane grin and frighteningly inane logo. _The Potion Pot - all you’ll need, guaranteed!_ Severus had hated the name at once, and only grew to hate it more as time progressed.

But it was interesting to hear Miss Granger admit she needed help. “Potion-making get the better of you after all?” he asked. “Start messing up your Pepper-Up Potion recipe?”

She waved his question away with a graceful swish of her hand. “Nothing like that. I enjoy the work, actually. Ron and I have reached a comfortable split - I make all the potions, and he handles the business end of things. It’s worked just fine so far. But we’ve taken on a new contract and it’s going to be more than I can handle on my own.” She shot him a lopsided smile. “I was hoping you might be able to furnish me with a list of former students who might be interested in some short-term work - someone who had some actual talent for potions would be preferable, of course.”

“And what, you assume I carry such a list around with me?” Severus sneered. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you, Miss Granger. Perhaps Longbottom is free.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“It hardly matters, as I will not be providing you with such a list in either case.”

Hermione sighed. “In that case, I suppose I will have to fall back to Plan B - hiring you. I know you’re busy with your own mail-order business, of course, but you’re the only one I know who would do a passable job.”

Severus frowned. “I doubt you need a potion master of my caliber to brew the swill you undoubtedly sell by the gallon, Miss Granger. Surely you could place a notice? Next to one of those garish advertisements you’ve splattered all over most of the potions magazines, perhaps?”

Her smile widened at that, clearly unperturbed by his deliberate needling. “No, it’s not that. We’re going to be the sole supplier for St. Mungo’s, you see. Ron just finalized the contract this week.”

“Congratulations.” Severus was impressed in spite of himself - their business must be even larger than he realized, if they were able to produce that quantity. St. Mungo’s went through an incredible variety and volume of potions on a daily basis.

“Thank you,” she said without any hint of sarcasm. “However, Ron also promised them one brand-new potion per month - something nobody has made before, and preferably something useful for the types of cases the staff at St. Mungo’s often see.” Her smile faded and she huffed softly. “He didn’t consult me before agreeing, though, or I would have told him it was too much. I can step up the amount of time I spend in the lab and meet the volume demand easily enough, but I can’t guarantee having time to research something - especially a regular output of somethings.”

“And you believe I could?”

Her eyes narrowed as she swept a critical look over his form, then over his laboratory. “I’m not blind, Severus. You’re wasted here. Even with your mail-order business, you’re making what, a thousand galleons a year? I’d wager you sell no more than a potion or two a week, and that can hardly take up all your time.”

Her assessment of his income was dead-on, which irked him all on its own. “Perhaps I should splash my face around more, like your Mr. Weasley.” 

“Do you honestly think that would help?” Hermione leaned forward to brace her elbows on the table and fixed her gaze squarely on his face. “You’re a former Death-Eater, Professor. I’d wager most witches and wizards wouldn’t be comfortable with you making them their potions even if they knew you were available.”

She was more right than Severus liked to admit. Still . . . “I’ll have you know I’m providing all the potions for the rebuilding crew at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, thank you very much.” He didn’t know why felt obligated to defend himself, but something in him bristled at a former student (Granger, at that!) knowing how badly his business was failing.

That brought an unexpected smile. “I know. We turned that contract down, actually - I decided that making Pepper-Up Potions and strength potions by the gallon would be more tedious than I wanted to take on, and the Hogwarts crews were unlikely to need anything much more than that. You must be getting bored with it by now, Professor.”

The damn witch was right, of course. Severus kept silent and gave her his best glare.

“Look, Professor, I’m not going to browbeat you into it.” She stood and tossed a muggle-style business card onto the table between them. “Here’s my card. Come or not, it’s up to you, but that card is spelled to become a portkey at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. We can work out the details at the company lab.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ron squeezed Hermione’s elbow reassuringly. “I’m sure he’ll come, ‘Mione. I have faith in you.”

Hermione snorted. “You have faith in your sources, who all say he’s nearly broke.”

“That too.”

It really would be nice if he would. She had perhaps stretched the truth a bit the previous day - there was a stack of applications an inch thick on her desk, young witches and wizards who all hoped to find a job with The Potion Pot. Most weren’t as talented at brewing as they thought they were, of course, but doubtless there were a few who could be trusted with the mundane recipes so Hermione could free herself up for the more spectacular creations. The problem was, she just wasn’t good enough.

Oh, she was one of the best in her class at Hogwarts (with the possible exception of Draco Malfoy, surprisingly), but that was just one year at one school. And she had no particular affinity for potions over anything else. She and Ron stumbled on potions almost by accident, really, trying to find something to do after the war, and it happened to work out for them. Better than she could have ever hoped, if she didn’t mind the monotony.

But Hermione had been brewing potions long enough to realize that the _truly_ spectacular work - the groundbreaking new creations and the finicky detail work - those took passion as well as precision. Something she tried to simulate, but knew she was just fooling herself. She needed someone like Professor Snape.

Who, as it turned out, was punctual. The clock over Ron’s desk chimed nine, and then Snape was standing there in the center of the room, clutching Hermione’s business card and looking only slightly out of sorts from using the portkey. He took a long look around the office, eyes jumping from object to object as if cataloging them for future reference, then he fixed his attention on her and Ron. And waited.

“Good morning,” Ron managed to announce without stuttering. Maybe the last two years of public speaking had paid off. “Thanks for coming - we really appreciate it.”

Snape inclined his head. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet, but I admit to being curious.”

 _Curious is okay. Curious is good._ Hermione cleared her throat, aware of how odd it felt to be the one discomfited by Professor Snape - usually that was Ron’s role. “Shall I show you around first? Then Ron and I can answer any questions you have.”

He shrugged, a one-shouldered elegant motion which would have felt rude from anyone except him. For Snape it was downright eloquent.

Hermione met Ron’s eyes briefly, reading his thanks at not being dragged along on the tour, then she motioned to the door and preceded her former professor through. “Shall we?”

He followed her, saying little, but Hermione could tell he was taking everything in. She felt a bit defensive as she guided him around their offices (a grandiose term for the two cramped almost-closets she and Ron had claimed for themselves) and the storefront. Snape held his tongue at the clutter on her desk and the vibrant orange decor scheme in Ron’s, but he couldn’t restrain himself once they got to the front part of the store.

“Seriously, Miss Granger? This is how you organize your wares?”

Hermione forced a smile. “Our customers seem to like it, Professor.”

“You seem to set a lot of stock in what you believe your customers might like. Obviously your customers are all dunderheads - there is no earthly reason to put the Bundimun Pomade and the Furgus Fungal Budge next to each other, other than perhaps the color. Nor would any rational witch or wizard search for Strengthening Solution and strength potion on the same shelf - despite the names, they work on two completely different principles for two completely different purposes.” He waved imperiously at the display behind the counter. “And isn’t it a bit irresponsible to sell Amortentia here? Its one saving grace is being complicated enough that morons can’t brew it, thus sparing us all from ill use - you’ve circumvented that.”

Hermione held the smile and counted to three before replying. “It’s behind the counter for a reason, along with Polyjuice Potion and Scintillation Solution and several of the other potions which could be abused if in the wrong hands. Lilia - our shop attendant, you’ll meet her later today, she should get here soon - knows very well which potions can be sold to underage wizards and which need special dispensation from the Ministry. As for the organization - not every witch and wizard sorts their ingredients the same way, and we have found what works best for ease of browsing rather than frequency of actual use. Something I wouldn’t expect you to have experience with, as you’ve obviously never had the need to present a public-facing display for anything other than students.”

She mentally replayed her words and realized she had perhaps sounded a bit harsh, considering she was still hoping to persuade him to work with her. She tried to think of a better way to phrase her point, failed, and decided to gloss over it instead. “Shall we continue on to the lab?”

The look he gave her said very clearly that he understood she was changing the subject, but he grunted an affirmative reply and followed her back to the hallway and up the stairs. Hermione actually found herself eager to see his reaction when she threw open the door.

“Voila! The lab!”

He snorted at her theatricality, but he did look genuinely impressed. This floor was the entire reason Hermione and Ron had purchased this particular building - the lab was as far from the gloomy atmosphere of the Hogwarts dungeons as it was possible to be. The windows ringing the single room let in loads of not-at-all-magical sunlight, and Hermione had spent months getting the layout of the workbenches and shelves just right.

She stepped further into the lab and shut the door behind them. No one except Hermione (and very rarely, Ron) ever came up to her sanctuary. It felt less odd than she expected to be showing Professor Snape around, actually - he may have been caustic most of the time, but he was probably the only wizard in Britain whom she would have felt comfortable sharing an academic workspace like this with. _Another reason to hope he accepts the offer._

“Thoughts?”

He turned in a slow circle, taking in the arrangement of the room. “Your business must be doing well, indeed. I see you appreciate the importance of quality tools and materials.”

Hermione shrugged. “The Potion Pot was really Ron’s idea, honestly, but we’ve made a good go of it.”

He gave an amused snort. “More than a good go, I would imagine. I would not have imagined Mr. Weasley to choose potions as his vocation.”

She couldn’t hold back her huff of laughter - he had intended to insult Ron, clearly, but he was so far off . . . “The potions were incidental. Neither of us particularly wanted to go back to school for another year just to sit for our N.E.W.Ts, and the Ministry included a generous pile of galleons along with the Order of Merlin they assigned each of us. George suggested potions - it’s something he and Fred never really did, at their shop - and we just ran with it.”

“And you capitalized on your ‘Golden Trio’ status.”

“A bit. Minus Harry, of course - he’s much happier playing professional Quidditch anyway. But Ron and I split up the work, and it really turned out well. I do the brewing and he does the media and schmoozing and whatnot. He’s really very good at it.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione was pleased to discover it was much less effective now that she wasn’t his student. Still a bit intimidating, but she had no reason to be intimidated now . . .

“No need to make that face - it’s true,” she said. “Ron’s got a lot going for him, despite how you treated him in your classroom - he’s outgoing and friendly and _likeable_ , unlike some, and he has a good instinct for working with people. Me, I’m happier in the lab.”

“You defend him rather hotly for someone who is just a business partner. There’s more there, then?”

 _Did Snape really just ask if she and Ron were shagging?_ Hermione took a moment to pick the right words. “One, it’s really none of your business, or anyone else’s, what my relationship with Ron is. But two, yes, we are dating. And three, no, there’s no wedding on the immediate horizon, no matter how much Ron’s family might wish there to be.” She shot him a strained smile. “And that’s the last time I’m going to answer any questions along that line, I will warn you.”

“Noted.” He took another long look around the room. “So - your offer. May I work at the lab in my home, or do you expect me to share this room with you and whatever other dunderheads you employ?”

Hermione decided that Professor Snape must truly be incapable of _not_ insulting people every other breath. “Given the importance of the research and the secrecy surrounding our venture, I will have to insist you work here. With full access to whatever materials you may need, of course. And no one ever comes up here other than me. With the exception of you, if you want the job.”

His scowl deepened. “If I take this position - and that’s _if_ \- I must insist on absolute leeway on my research. I will be in charge and you will be assisting me, not the other way around, is that clear?”

 _Ah._ She had been expecting something like that, actually, so his demand didn’t catch her entirely by surprise. And it made sense - he was the more experienced potions master, while she was just a reasonably bright potions student who never even took her N.E.W.T.s. Still . . .

“Yes and no,” she said with as much of a poker face as she could muster. “Yes, whenever you are researching and creating new potions, you will of course have autonomy and I will assist you as much as I am able, given my other duties. But I will also expect you to assist _me_ with basic brewing when the need arises - sometimes I just need an extra pair of hands, and I’m not interested in hearing complaints about the work being demeaning. I seem to recall you giving us some rather long-winded speeches at Hogwarts about potion-making being a noble art and taking pride in even the simplest creations - I will expect that from you as well.”

He searched her face for a long moment, then bowed his head. “That would be acceptable.”

Hermione let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Excellent - let’s go find Ron and you two can sign the contracts.”


	3. Chapter 3

Severus apparated to his new lab at precisely nine o’clock the next morning. Hermione was waiting for him.

“I had hoped to turn you loose and let you get started today,” she said without preamble, “but there’s been a run on cough potions and I’ll need your help to replenish our stock. Must be something going around.” She waved vaguely toward the workbench behind him. “Shrake spine’s on the table - we’ll need about a quart, crushed, if you don’t mind. I’m already elbow-deep in silverweed sap or else I’d do it myself.”

 _Autonomy my arse - she planned this_. “I seem to recall you promised to help _me,_ ” he pointed out.

“Only when we’re not swamped. Which, right now, we are.”

Severus glared at her. The look didn’t seem to be as effective as he was used to. “Is this to be a regular occurrence?”

She shrugged and turned away, but not before he caught a hint of a smile on her face. “You promised to help when we’re in a crunch. We’re overworked and we’ll likely be in a crunch most of the time. Expect to be working for me as much as I’m working for you, time-wise.”

“That’s _not_ how you presented this opportunity,” Severus growled.

“Obviously.” Hermione shot a very definite smirk over her shoulder at him. “I knew you wouldn’t take the bait if I did. But we do need you, and we are behind, so I’d very much appreciate it if you would tackle those shrake spines for me. When I do them, I keep stirring too quickly and they go all sour.”

“At least you learned _something_ from my classes. I was beginning to wonder.”

“That bit was from your old textbook - you know, the one Harry used our sixth year? He finally let me and Ron in on how he was suddenly doing so well in Potions. You ought to publish your annotations someday, Professor - they were really very helpful. You do have a gift for explaining things, when you can be bothered to do so.”

Severus opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. _Was that a compliment?_ He rather thought it might have been. How strange - it felt extremely odd for anyone to compliment him on anything these days.

The shrake spines took nearly three hours to crush and prepare, three hours of exhausting grinding and stirring which left Severus’s shoulders and neck sore. The monotony gave him a chance to make a more thorough study of the lab and its other occupant, though. The storage system left something to be desired - it was a wonder Hermione could find anything at all - but the lab really was stocked with the very best materials money could buy. A full set of gleaming cauldrons in four different metals, several sizes of mortars and pestles, stirring rods in a neat block like kitchen knives, scales and flasks and tiny bottles with tiny cork stoppers . . . it was a pleasure to work with materials of this caliber, even if they weren’t strictly _his_. 

“Done with that?” Hermione asked.

Severus gave the cauldron one last stir. “As done as they’ll get, I suspect - are you ready for them? The paste will set up like cement if you’re not quick.”

Hermione wordlessly waved him over to the large cauldron she had simmering at her workbench. Severus carefully measured out a quart of the foul-smelling mixture, making sure to spread it evenly throughout the already-bubbling cauldron, and immediately set to cleaning his own.

“You don’t just _scourgio_?”

Severus sniffed dismissively, then immediately regretted it when the smell of shrake invaded his nostrils. “Come now, Miss Granger, don’t you remember what happens to shrake vine paste when you use magical cleaning reagents?”

“It hardens, I know. But a second _scourgio_ gets it right out.”

“It’s not good for the cauldron.”

“You’re using copper - it’s not like it will rust.”

“It can tarnish.”

“Not from _scourgio_. But I’m not ordering you not to - I was just curious, that’s all.” She smiled at him in a way that was probably supposed to make everything better.

“Just as well you weren’t trying to _order_ me to do anything, Miss Granger. It won’t work.”

She turned away and let out a snort which sounded suspiciously like it was covering a laugh. “I know better, Professor.”

“Good.” He finished scrubbing the cauldron, vanished the brush, and hung the cauldron back with its partners on the wall-mounted rack. “Am I free to start on the work you actually hired me for now, or do you have some strength potion that needs brewing? Callum’s Cure-All, perhaps?”

“No, you’re fine. I can take this from here. I’m going to grab Ron and wander up to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch as soon as I’m done, though - you’re welcome to come.” She looked back over her shoulder and caught his eye. “You’re welcome to apparate home for lunch instead if you prefer, of course, but I’m buying.”

Severus inclined his head. “In that case, I suppose I will join you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Leaky Cauldron was noisy and it smelled stale, just as with every other time Severus had eaten there. He drew quite a few curious stares - one of the downsides of having been a professor at Hogwarts for nearly a full generation of witches and wizards and then being in the news daily for months. Not to mention how the speculation and trials surrounding the Death Eaters all seems to involve his name in some way. One or two faces were tentatively friendly; most were somewhere between sullen and outright hostile.

“I see why your mail-order business was having difficulties,” Hermione said quietly as they slipped into a booth at the back of the room. “Nothing to do with your potion-crafting abilities and everything to do with your public image.”

“That’s . . . accurate,” Severus admitted.

Ron waved the server over with a cheeky smile. “Three for lunch, Almenia. Whatever the special is.”

Hermione elbowed him. “You could have let Professor Snape decide for himself, you know.”

“No point - the rest of the menu is rubbish. Special’s the only way to go.” Ron linked his fingers behind his head and yawned without covering his mouth. “Lord, it’s been a long day already so far. The _Prophet_ has got to have the worst-managed advertising department in the history of ever. You ever try advertising, Professor? Might help with your special order whatsits.”

Severus forced a tight smile. “I prefer _Potions Quarterly_ , to reach the serious customers.”

“Right, that old thing.” Ron sat back up and slouched forward with his elbows on the table. “It’s fine for what it is, I guess, but it’s hardly got enough circulation to be worth advertising specialty potions. We barely justify the expense with just a general spread.”

Severus didn’t dignify him with an answer.

“You’re settling in okay, though?” Ron asked. “‘Mione’s got you everything you need?”

“Everything is adequate.”

Hermione snorted. “What he means is he’s bowled over by how much you spent on supplies, Ron. I did tell you the four sets of cauldrons was a bit much.”

Severus clenched his jaw - he hadn’t thought he was that transparent, but sometime over the last two years Miss Hermione Granger had suddenly developed the ability to completely ignore the supercilious mask he habitually wore when around around other people. It was disconcerting, especially since she was so recently his pupil. Definitely not “girlish” in any way now, though - she had never really been one for childish behavior, even as a first-year. Finally her body and her age had caught up with her personality and her mind. He tried hard not to think on that topic any further, for fear it would go places better left alone.

The food came, and it wasn’t bad. Certainly better than what Severus was used to at the Leaky Cauldron from days gone by - maybe Weasley was on to something when he said to only order the special. Severus couldn’t countenance actually praising Weasley, though, so he ate in silence.

Hermione and Ron had no such limitations. They chatted at length about the minutiae of Ron’s morning: floo calls with the _Prophet_ , two howlers from witches who were upset about some comment he made on the Wizarding Wireless a week prior, and an extended chat from his mother. Which apparently revolved mostly around how he and Hermione really needed to be settling down and getting married and producing more tiny red-haired Weasleys already. Hermione was rather vocal in her explanation of why, exactly, she was not interested in Mrs. Weasley dictating her future in such a manner. Ron seemed blindsided and confused by the whole thing. Hadn’t he ever heard of cutting the apron strings?

The conversation-turned-argument ended when Ron threw down his fork and stormed out in a huff, over what had sounded like a relatively innocent (if matter-of-fact) comment by Hermione.

“Sorry.”

Severus glanced up at her. “No need to apologize - it’s not your fault he deals with issues by storming off in a snit.”

A smile flirted with the corners of her mouth. “Oh, it’s not that, it’s just . . . I hate airing our dirty laundry in public. Ron doesn’t seem to mind, as you probably saw.”

“And you want his mother to butt out.”

She shrugged. “I suppose, a bit. It’s more that I want Ron to actually stand up to his mother once in a while, but I know that’s not going to happen and I should just accept it.”

Severus took another bite of his lunch, which he guessed was probably chicken. “Why are you dating him, if he won’t take your side?”

Hermione glanced sharply at him. “I did warn you I’m not answering any more questions about me and Ron.”

 _Ah - she had, hadn’t she_. “Now it’s my turn to apologize.” Severus dabbed a stray bit of sauce off the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “A different topic, then - why the horrible organization in your ingredients cupboards?”

She blinked. “What do you mean? Everything is alphabetical, and I’m _sure_ they’re all organized properly.”

“I did notice they were alphabetical, yes, but you truly couldn’t come up with a better storage method? Alphabetical means having to hunt through every shelf to get even your most basic ingredients.”

“Oh, and you would prefer I keep them like you did at Hogwarts?”

Severus recoiled. “That was for the benefit of twenty students all needing the same ingredients at the same time. No, a better way would be like I do for my own private stock: sort according to magical properties, so you don’t have potentially explosive reagents next to each other. It has the additional benefit of allowing you to put your most-used reagents in the front, where they’re easily accessible.”

“But they’re harder to find that way,” Hermione said.

“Only if you don’t know your potions ingredients well,” he countered. “I assume - given that you now run _a Potions shop_ \- that you are beyond that point.”

Hermione held his gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable, then dropped her attention to the tabletop. “There may be some validity to that,” she admitted.

There was a noticeable note of bitterness in her voice, and Severus felt obliged to press. “You are upset I have more potions experience than you do? That is what you hired me for, is it not?”

He got an exasperated grumble in return. “It’s not . . . You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yes, I’ve been told that,” he answered, falling back into his default sarcasm. “Rarely to my face by my students, however.”

“Good thing I’m no longer your student, then.”

“So why do you still call me ‘Professor?’”

Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “Shall I call you Mr. Snape then?” she finally asked.

Severus shuddered. “Thank you, no. ‘Mr. Snape’ was my father, and I have little interest in emulating him.”

“Then I’ll call you Severus.”

He thought about it a moment - his name should have sounded odd coming from her lips, but it didn’t. “That’s acceptable.”

“And you call me Hermione.”

He read the invitation in her face for what it was. And found he had no objection to it. “I will.”


	5. Chapter 5

"‘Mione, do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” Hermione backtracked to Ron’s office and took the only seat not currently covered in papers. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in.” Ron bit his lip, a sure sign he didn’t actually want to talk but was psyching himself up for it. “About, ah, you and Professor Snape.”

Hermione blinked. “What about us?”

“How’s it working out?”

“Fine?” Hermione tried to think whether there was something in particular Ron could be alluding to, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “I’ve not had to put as much extra time as I thought to keep up with the St. Mungos order, now that he’s helping sometimes, and he’s got what sounds like a promising start on a blood-thickening potion. It should help for cases where replenishing doesn’t do any good, like when the patient is losing too much blood and the St. Mungos staff can’t keep up. It’s only been a week and a half, but I think Severus and I are getting on tolerably well. Why, is something wrong?”

Ron scowled. “It’s so weird for you to call him Severus.”

“It’s his name.”

“Pretty sure his first name is ‘Professor.’”

Hermione gave him a look.

“All I’m saying is, every time I walk past the stairway to your lab, I hear you arguing.”

“That’s just how he is.”

“But that’s not how _you_ are, ‘Mione. Not with anyone else, anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I seem to recall a rather prolonged row with you not two days ago about us moving in together.”

“God, that’s - that’s not the same and you know it!” Ron snapped back. “And that look you’re giving me - that’s one of his. You’re giving me a - a Snapeface. I don’t want to see Snapeface from you, ‘Mione.”

“And you say we never argue.”

Ron blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his already-messy hair.

“What’s really the matter?” Hermione asked. “This isn’t like you.”

“I . . .” Ron looked away. “I talked to my mother again this morning. She said she expects us to get married before ‘shacking up,’ as she put it.”

“Lucky for her I have no intention of getting married _or_ of ‘shacking up’ with you yet, then. We’ve been over this.”

“Yes, but -”

“But what? We need to get married because your mother says so? I like your family, Ron, but I’m not dating _them_. I’m dating _you_. And I don’t like how you give your mother so much input into our lives.”

“She’s my _mother!”_ Ron growled. “What am I supposed to say, ‘shut up?’”

“How about ‘You’re being a nosy busybody and my girlfriend and I will figure out our own love life, thankyouverymuch?’”

Ron was squeezing his pencil so hard it snapped in half. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he finally said. “Go on back up to your lab and your new boyfriend.”

 _Ah._ Suddenly the petulant act made sense - Ron was jealous that Hermione was spending time with Professor Snape. Completely, irrationally jealous.

“You do realize he’s twice our age, right? And - as you pointed out - we do argue a lot. Although he doesn’t go into a snit and sulk when he doesn’t get his way.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“Fine, I’m going.” And she left.

***

“Snapeface?”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. “You heard that?”

Severus arched an eyebrow at her - and crap, it _was_ the same expression she had found herself adopting recently. “I heard you arguing from the hallway,” he said. “Weasley argues a lot for someone who is upset about you arguing all the time.”

That drew a reluctant laugh from her. “Stubbornness is a family trait, I’m afraid. I have no idea how his father survives in that house.”

“Living with any Weasley would be a difficult proposition.”

Hermione sighed. “You heard that part too, then?”

“Indeed. You weren’t being particularly secretive.”

“You shouldn’t listen at doors, Severus.”

“I spent more than half my life as a spy - it’s rather a habit now, I’m afraid.” He gave an eloquent one-shouldered shrug, very clearly expressing how much he didn’t care. “He’s going to expect you to stop working once you get pregnant, you know.”

“How the _hell_ is that any of your business?” _And how could he know?_ Hermione realized she had rather expected that might be the case - it was one of the main reasons she was resisting the tug of “more” in their relationship - but it was another thing completely for her ex-potions professor to be commenting on it.

He merely regarded her with those piercing eyes. “It’s my business if it means I’ll be out of a job here.”

“I have no intention of getting married _or_ of having children, so don’t you worry about it.” Hermione crossed her arms, hoping her _and this is final so don’t you dare push me_ was coming across clearly.

“So you’re going to break up with him.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “I -”

Severus held up a hand to stop her. “Not yet, I know, but it’s coming. And it’s none of my business, and I promised I wouldn’t ask you about it, so I won’t. But I won’t pretend I don’t notice - I’m not blind.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a smirk. “So on that note - any potions you need me to help you with today, or can I work on the one you hired me to create?”


End file.
